


The Province of the Brave

by threerings



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: AU from midway through the S4 finale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And eventually do some talking, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arguments leading to sex, Blow Jobs, Discussion of Qualice, Discussion of Qualiot, Don't copy to another site, Frottage, I started this before the finale believe it or not, It got sappier and smuttier afterwards cause we deserve it, Look just feelings and smut and more feelings and more smut and also talking about feelings, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 04, Quentin and Eliot recover, Quentin never dies, Shower Sex, and talking about sex, have lots of sex, ish, season 4 finale fix-it, sex and feelings and talking, slight angst, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threerings/pseuds/threerings
Summary: Eliot is back.  Everyone is safe.  Quentin might be freaking out a little.“Okay, look,” he began.  “I’ll just...lay it out.  Cause I don’t know what else to do.”  He took a breath, realizing he sounded almost angry.  But not at her.  “When we got back from Fillory, when we remembered that alternate timeline...I said, ‘hey, why don’t we, you know, try it for real.’  You know, us,” he added to her.  “And he said ‘no.’  So, okay, fine, that was fucking that, right?”He glanced at her long enough to see the frown lines between her brows. “And then...you know...everything else happened.  And he was...gone.”  He hated the way his voice broke on the last word.  “And now he’s back.  And he said… He said…that…he wants to try.  Wants to be together.”





	The Province of the Brave

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so...YEAH. Here's my post season 4 fic....I started writing it the weekend before the finale aired, and most of the stuff I've written since then has been the smut, not the angst, believe it or not. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for depiction of a panic attack that's pretty significant. And mention of suicidal thoughts. A break-up-type conversation (with Alice.) And, uh, generally feelings. But it IS happy and sappy and smutty eventually, I promise. Just...you know...a lot to work through. 
> 
> As far as how this differs from canon, I think that's pretty clear in the fic. Basically the main differences are Quentin never died and Eliot was healed magically after going through surgery. I borrowed a little idea from AJ (aka @messier51 on tumblr ) to resolve both those things. If you haven't read [her brilliant alternate version of the finale,](http://messier51.tumblr.com/post/184791206402) you should. The idea about breaking the magic pipes was borrowed from her.
> 
> NOTE: Do not reproduce this work in any form on any site or app. Rights belong to myself, the author and no permissions are given. If you are reading this anywhere but archiveofourown.org, you are reading a stolen copy.

Quentin woke up in the Brakebills’ infirmary and almost the first thing he said was, “How’s Eliot?” The last he’d known before racing off to the mirror world to get rid of the monsters had been that Eliot was going into surgery. There’d been a moment when he thought he was going to die without knowing if he’d managed to save him or not. But Kady and Zelda had come through, they’d burst the pipes the library used to throttle magic, and a flood of possibility had entered the world. Alice had saved his life with it. And after stabilizing Eliot with traditional medicine, Professor Lipson been able to heal him the rest of the way with magic. He was still weak and suffering the aftereffects of having his body mistreated by the monster for months, but he would recover completely. It was over. Somehow. 

They’d brought Eliot back to the loft to give him a quiet place to rest (and because “it was a shame he hadn’t been able to appreciate this bitchin’ pad” according to Margo.) Margo stayed with him for a while, while Quentin took a shower. He was exhausted, his brain feeling almost numb and blank with it. He knew, distantly, that Alice was in the apartment. He should probably be thinking about her more. But he couldn’t stop the feeling that he needed to stay right beside Eliot. Needed to make sure, each time his eyes opened, that it was really _him_ behind those eyes. 

He joined Margo in the bedroom where El was sleeping soundly. 

“Hey, Q,” she rushed up with a rabbit in her arms. “Fen just bunnied, I have to get to Fillory for a minute.” He nodded. After a moment he realized he was expected to say something.

“Everything okay?” She cocked her head and furrowed her brow a little as she looked at him for a beat.

“It’s political bullshit, on top of having a giant lake of magic ripped out of the place...no big.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Also I have to get un-banished. Uh, how bout you? You okay?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. Just...yanno...” He looked over to the bed. “Tired. Relieved.” 

“Yeah,” she said. “I get that. Okay, well I gotta bounce. Penny should be here any sec. Tell Eliot I’ll be back as soon as, okay?” He nodded obediently and watched her go with only a lingering look back over her shoulder at Eliot’s form. 

Once the door closed behind her, he breathed a sigh of relief. He looked to the bed and then to the designer-looking chair against the wall. He shook his head and moved towards the bed. He carefully lifted the edge of the covers and slid in next to Eliot. He screwed his eyes shut and listened to the sound of his regular breathing, the rhythm of it setting off an echo deep inside him, something half-remembered and yet so familiar. He felt like crying for a minute, but was ultimately too worn out. It wasn’t long before blackness took him.

~~~~~

“Q? Q?” Quentin woke suddenly to the sound of Eliot calling him name from somewhere in the dark to his right. Not far away, but still on the other side of the bed. His voice wasn’t quite panicked but it did sound uncertain...maybe a little afraid.

“I’m here El,” he said, grabbing hold of the hand that reached across the bed blindly. 

“Q,” said Eliot, holding onto his hand with an iron grip. He turned towards Quentin’s body. He could just make out Eliot’s eyes and a small part of his face in the dark room. His long, unkempt hair shadowing half of it. “Q, I need to tell you...” Eliot trailed off, as if losing track of what he’d meant to say, before squeezing his hand hard again. “I love you,” he said. Quentin knew he made a noise at that, air escaping his lungs.

“El.” 

“I’ve been waiting...to tell you,” continued Eliot. 

“El, it’s alright. I’m here. We’re safe.” He was close to him now, their bodies almost touching, and it was so tempting to lean in, to press all the way along that long frame. 

“I was wrong, before.” Eliot’s eyes bore into his, but Quentin wasn’t following. 

“What?” he said. Eliot’s voice was insistent but not completely coherent. And his own head was fuzzy with sleep and exhaustion.

“I was wrong. When I said we wouldn’t work. I’m sorry. But I love you so much and...I want to try. I was wrong.” Eliot’s words hurried as if he were running out of time, voice was broken by the end, in a way Quentin had only heard a few times before. 

“Eliot,” he breathed, pain blossoming in his chest. He leaned in without any conscious decision, bowing forward, chest on fire, hunched around the pain. Their lips met, and it wasn’t romantic, or sexy, or even sweet. Just two people each lost in their own need, their own emotional tumult, not quite coming together. “It’s alright,” he lied against Eliot’s lips. “Eliot, I’m here. It’ll be okay.” 

After a few more clumsy kisses, Eliot fell back against his pillow, his energy apparently exhausted. Quentin rolled away from him, onto his back, and squeezed his eyes shut tight while his chest exploded in feeling. 

So much emotion flowed through him it felt like a hook gouging into his chest, tearing at his softest parts. Feelings he’d buried and pushed aside for months upon months broke out all at once, Eliot’s words echoing in his ears. The pain and loss that rejection had seared into him. Simultaneously the profound love he felt for the man next to him. A love that went on and on, that was nearly indistinguishable from the pain. Bone deep, both love and pain. His numbness broke with the force of a dam collapsing and he was nearly swept away.

Finally the emotion rose up into his throat and his hands until he couldn’t lie still anymore, couldn’t remain quiet. He thought he might scream if he tried, so he pushed himself up and fled the room with one last look back at the sleeping figure in the bed. 

He padded blindly forward, into the living room, hands in front of his face nearly blocking his view.

“Quentin!” Fuck. _Alice._ She was there. Waiting for him? Now looking at him in alarm. “Quentin?” She rushed to him and he held out his arms, fending her off. 

“No...I...I just can’t. Alice. I need--”

“Is it Eliot? Is he okay—Are you--” Her face, concerned, a distant panic in her eyes that he recognized from a million other disasters.

“It’s fine. He’s fine. I just need.” He swallowed. Looked into her face. “I need to be alone for a minute, okay?” He didn’t wait for her response, but danced around her towards the door to the apartment’s balcony. 

The cold night air hit him like a splash of icy water. He took a breath and shut the door behind him firmly. Then he collapsed, folding down onto his knees on the cold tiles. Moisture immediately soaking through his thin pants. Head in his hands. He tried to breathe, counting the inhale and exhale. His gaze turned upwards and he saw the dizzying drop on the other side of the railing. Tall enough, his mind supplied automatically. Beyond tall enough. 

He turned away, but strangely the familiarity of the thought grounded him. He didn’t want to jump, felt no real urge towards it at all. He had problems, but not ones that made that option tempting in the slightest. Problems? He huffed a tiny dry laugh under his breath. 

The man that he loved so much it threatened to break him in half was alive, in a bed in the other room, and wanted to kiss him. And the woman he...had thought he might love again...was probably watching him right now, worry etched on her face. 

The first tear that fell onto his palm managed to surprise him, but after that it was a flood, a torrent he couldn’t begin to stop. It went on and on, feeling like his very being was pouring from him, being ripped out of him and spilling onto the hard tiles below. He hunched completely over, chest to thighs, sobs coming from his guts, hurting with their force. 

He heard the balcony door open and close behind him but he couldn’t spare a thought for it. It wasn’t until he felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder and the presence of someone crouching behind him that he started and looked. 

It was Alice, seeming small and fragile folded into a such a small space, the tiny bit between him and the glass wall behind him. 

“Quentin,” she said, her face pained, and he just shook his head, unable to form words, only able to stare at her in distress as he tried to dam up the tears. She reached forward and wrapped her arms around him, not able to completely encircle his hunched form, but doing her best to provide support. 

He sobbed against her shoulder, feeling so damn shitty about it. About not even being able to hold himself together. About imposing on her, especially now…

Eventually, the tears slowed and the sobs grew father apart. The pain in his chest settled into a dull throb of self-disgust for his weakness. Alice didn’t question him, just let him cry himself out and then helped him up and led him inside. She pulled him by the hand over to the dining room table.

“Here,” she said, putting a glass of water into his hand. “When was the last time you ate?” He shook his head, at a loss. “Right. Let’s see what this kitchen has.” She rummaged through the fridge and he watched her. He grew calmer with every passing minute, his breathing finally evening out. But he still cursed himself, watching her caring for him.

“How about a sandwich? There’s turkey and cheese?” When he didn’t reply she started making it anyway and soon there was a pretty stunning looking sandwich in front of him. It could have been in an ad for lunch meat. Of course, Alice was good at this, too.

When he realized she was staring at him, he picked up the photogenic sandwich and took a bite. It didn’t taste as good as it looked. Or rather, he didn’t taste much. It was probably him. But once he’d started his body seemed to realize it was hungry and he ate most of it. He only lost the will to keep chewing after he’d had seventy-five percent of it. 

But by then he was feeling better. Relatively speaking. So he guessed it had worked. He leaned against the back of his chair, feeling Alice’s eyes on him, while he kept his on the grain of the table.

After a long silence, she finally spoke. “Quentin? Will you tell me what that was about?” 

He frowned. He didn’t want to. Didn’t know how to.

“Is it about Eliot?” she asked, voice calm. The voice you use with children. Or crazy people. He sighed. And finally shrugged.

“Is it about...you and Eliot?” The words seemed to ring around the loft, though they weren’t spoken any louder than before. 

He covered his face with his hand, rubbing his eyes. He let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I guess.” His voice came out rusty and harsh. “Alice, I...”

“I read your book, Quentin. I know about you and him...during the quest.”

“Oh,” he said, a confusion of feelings all at once rising in him. 

“I didn’t read...all of it,” she said, and he thought if he looked at her she might be blushing. “Just enough...I think I got the gist.”

“Oh,” he said again. He bit his lip. “Okay, look,” he began. “I’ll just...lay it out. Cause I don’t know what else to do.” He took a breath, realizing he sounded almost angry. But not at her. “When we got back from Fillory, when we remembered that alternate timeline...I said, ‘hey, why don’t we, you know, try it for real.’ You know, _us,_ ” he added to her. “And he said ‘no.’ So, okay, fine, that was fucking that, right?”

He glanced at her long enough to see the frown lines between her brows. “And then...you know...everything else happened. And he was...gone.” He hated the way his voice broke on the last word. “And now he’s back. And he said… He said…that…he wants to try. Wants to be together.”

He took another deep breath. “So that’s...what happened.” He looked at the ceiling rather than anywhere close to her. Another breath. “What I said before...I meant it. I...I want you in my life.” And now he looked at her. “I care about you.” He hated the closed-off look her face had. “I just...I have...other things...umm...”

“You want to be with him,” she said. Her voice was soft, not hard and flat like he would’ve expected. “You’re in love with him.” 

“I...” His heart twisted in his chest. “I don’t even know if he meant it. He was practically delirious. He probably won’t remember saying it.” A noise came from above: a shuffle like a footstep. His head spun automatically to look, but the upstairs was dark. He was standing before he even thought about it, concerned for Eliot’s well-being. He took several steps towards the staircase and then with a suddenness that made his heart jump into his throat, Eliot stepped calmly forward from the shadows.

“Uh, hey,” he said, looking embarrassed. It was pretty clear from how he stepped forward that he had heard at least some of their conversation. Quentin’s face burned. Eliot rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and looked from him to Alice and back as he moved carefully down the stairs. “Well, for what it’s worth, I _do_ remember it.” His voice lowered, stilling as he came to stand on the same level as Quentin. “And I did mean it.” 

The clawing pain was back in Quentin’s chest, the tears threatening again, just from those words. But admitted so openly, in such a soft tone… For a long beat they all stood in silence. Then he took in the slight waver to Eliot’s posture and remembered how weak he still was.

“Are you...are you okay?” He stepped towards him with a hand lifted in concern.

“Oh, yeah, no, I’m fine. I, uh, came out for some food though? I’m super fucking hungry.” Eliot’s eyes darted around the room again before zeroing in on the fridge. He cleared his throat and then spun away from Quentin and into the kitchen. 

He looked to Alice. She shut her eyes for a second and then charged towards the couch. She bent and picked up her bag and sweater where they rested. “Look, I should...go,” she said.

“Wait,” he began but she shook him off as he tried to stop her. She was through the front door and gone before he’d even processed that she was really leaving. He looked over to see Eliot looking at him with a fairly blank expression. “Shit,” he said and reached for the door to go after her. Before he closed it behind him he stuck his head back around the door frame. “I’m coming right back,” he said to Eliot.

He caught up to her at the elevators. It was only once he was several steps out the door that he realized his feet were still bare. That was hardly important now. “Alice,” he called out. “Wait, please.”

“Quentin,” she said, turning to him. “What? What do you have to say? I get it, alright? And you don’t need me in there right now.”

He stopped, lifting his hands helplessly. “Look, I just want to say...I’m sorry. I didn’t...I _don’t_ want to hurt you. A-and I did need you in there. When I broke down, you...I needed you. Thank you.”

She looked down sadly. “Hey,” he continued. “I don’t know...fuck, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but if there’s any way you and I could... _not_ hate each other? That’s what I want.” She smiled a little and looked at him.

“Yeah,” she agreed, but he didn’t know how much she meant it. “I...I hope it works out...you two. Really.” 

Quentin looked down and then back up. “Yeah. Me, too.” She waved him away and got on the elevator then, and he had no idea how that had gone or whether he would regret it.

~~~~~

Quentin let himself back into the apartment and found Eliot sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal. For a moment he was so forcefully reminded of the Monster that he had to shake his head to clear the certainty of the impression from his mind. He saw Eliot’s curious expression, but he moved to the couch instead of towards him and fell down heavily onto the cushions, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Have you gotten any sleep?” Eliot asked.

“Nah, not really. Except for earlier, a little while you were out. Before that...I can’t even remember.” 

“I don’t know if I even want to ask about what all you’ve been through...” 

Quentin expelled a breath. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.” 

“Oh, me? I was just lounging around drinking martinis and waiting for my Prince charming.” One corner of Q’s face twisted up despite himself. Having finished his bowl, Eliot stood and walked to the sink to leave his dishes. 

“Eliot,” he said. “Let’s just...let’s wait on any dramatic conversations, okay? I don’t think I can handle any more tonight.” 

“You’re asking me to skip the drama?” called Eliot, mock offense in his tone. God, he’d missed him. “Have you _met_ me?” He looked up as the tall man came up next to the couch, smiling at the crinkle around his eyes. Eliot extended a hand to him. “Come on, you need to sleep.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed, and took hold of the hand and pulled himself to his feet. He followed Eliot up the stairs to their bedroom, watching him to make sure he didn’t fall, though he did seem steadier now. 

Neither of them broached the subject of not sharing a bed, for which Quentin was profoundly grateful. He was even more grateful when Eliot pulled him close under the bedspread, wrapped long arms and legs around him and then didn’t say a word. He breathed in the smell of him, somehow entirely different from the smell of the Monster even though it was the same body. Or maybe it was just different smelling it from centimeters away. 

“Q?” Eliot’s voice sounded loud, coming from so close above him, though his tone was actually quite timid. 

He pulled back a little to be able to look up at him. “Yeah?”

“I know we’re not...doing the talking thing right now.” Eliot bit his bottom lip, focusing Quentin’s attention on his mouth in a way that was probably unhelpful. “But is there any chance we’re...doing the kissing right now?” Quentin’s eyes rose from his lips to take in an uncharacteristically unsure gaze. He couldn’t help smiling warmly. “It’s just that I had so much time to think about what I wanted to do when I got out, _if_ I got out, and what I wanted to say, and kissing you a lot was definitely very high on the list--” Quentin cut him off by stretching up and pressing his lips onto Eliot’s. 

The kiss was awkward and stiff at first, Eliot taking a moment to relax into it and Quentin feeling strange about initiating it given everything they’d been through. They’d kissed earlier, when Eliot had been half-awake, but that hadn’t felt real. Hadn’t felt like it counted. This one counted. And therefore his belly was full of butterflies, afraid something was going to go wrong. 

But a hand rose to grasp the back of his neck, to tilt his head to a better angle, one that gave Eliot better access to his mouth. And he sighed as Eliot’s tongue slid into his mouth, awakening a fierce hunger from his core. He squirmed up against him, needing to be closer, his leg sliding in between Eliot’s longer ones. Soon they were kissing hungrily, both making small noises in their throats, bodies moving together in a sinuous rhythm of wordless need. 

It went on for a long time. One kiss, a hundred kisses, he couldn’t say which it was. It grew fiercely passionate, with both of them grasping at each other, and then calmed down into long, slow licks. He almost felt as if he’d climaxed somewhere in there, although his cock was still hard in his pajamas. He wanted to do something about that, but at the same time didn’t feel too much urgency. And he was so tired. The more he relaxed in Eliot’s embrace, the more the fatigue seemed to settle heavy in his limbs again, pulling him down into the mattress.

Finally their lips parted a small ways. “Mmm,” he hummed, his eyes closed. 

“Yeah,” said Eliot, relaxing his head down to share Quentin’s pillow. His hand traced an idle pattern across Quentin’s chest.

“’M tired,” he mumbled. “Sorry.” He heard Eliot smile, could picture exactly the curve of his lips as his breath huffed out across his cheek. 

“Yeah, me, too,” Eliot said. “Come on, let’s go to sleep.” He draped an arm across his waist and settled in next to him. Quentin struggled to open his eyes, feeling like he wanted to say something else, but he was gone in seconds, into the blackness.

~~~~~

Bright sunlight dazzled his eyes when he awoke on his side, facing the large windows. A warm weight pressed against his back, a person larger than himself, making him feel small and sheltered. _Eliot,_ he thought, and had to turn around to confirm it was really him. The sleeping figure made a small grumbling sound, his arm tightening on Quentin’s waist and face burrowing deeper into the pillow and Quentin’s clothing. Warm light burned through his chest at the sight, the knowledge that this was real, Eliot was back. He wanted to smother him in an embrace, but he stopped himself. Eliot needed his rest. And besides, he needed to go to the bathroom.

He slipped out from under Eliot’s arm and went to relieve himself. When he got back he stood there for a moment, debating whether he should return to bed or not. Just as he was trying to force himself to leave and go have breakfast or do something else like a responsible adult, Eliot stirred and looked at him. 

“Hey,” he said, and stretched out a hand to Quentin. “You’re far. You should come here.” Quentin smiled and shuffled to the bed without making a conscious decision to do so. He took the still-outstretched hand in his own and slid under the covers once more. He hesitated, then turned his back to Eliot as it had been when he’d awoken. Eliot seemed to approve, pressing against him tightly and locking an arm around his chest. 

Soft lips pressed to the nape of his neck: once, twice, three times. “Is that okay?” asked Eliot. 

“Mmm-hmm.” The kisses continued and a knee slid between his legs. He felt the unmistakable hard length of an erection against his ass and he arched his body into it. So quickly they were moving together, grinding, soft sounds of need coming from both their throats. Eliot sucked at a spot on the side of his neck and it shot straight to his hardening cock. When Eliot bit down on the spot he’d been working Quentin let out a loud, helpless whimper. 

That seemed to be the final straw for Eliot, because he tugged sharply at him, pulling him onto his back and rolling on top. Quentin pressed his hips up against the weight, against the hard cock separated from him only by two thin layers of fabric. Eliot kissed him, devouring his mouth, all hard hunger. His hands clutched at him with almost bruising force: his bicep, his waist, his hip. The grinding of their hips sent shudders of pleasure through him, the confused bumping of cocks and slide of cloth almost enough…

Then Eliot’s hand was between them, reaching inside his pants, pushing the elastic waistband down and wrapping long fingers around his aching cock. “Yes,” he said and it came out in a desperate whine. Eliot responded with a throaty groan and soon he’d pulled down his own clothing and finally they were skin to skin, cock against cock. They thrust together, no patience for anything else but this need, this basic instinct. Eliot’s hand tried to hold them together, stroke them at the same time, but the rhythm was difficult, both thrusting in time with their own desperation. Their breath came faster and then, without warning, Eliot tensed and choked on a sound. Quentin felt the hot rush of cum on his cock and he pushed into Eliot’s hand hard. The thought of it, the sound of Eliot coming, the way he shuddered against him, that was enough to push him over the edge. Eliot stroked him through his release, their fluids mixing as they smeared against them both. A few moments and Eliot was releasing them and falling next to him heavily with a rush of breath. 

Everything felt too bright in the morning light, with the white of the sheets and the rush of blood in his ears. How had that even happened...just like that, and he was covered in cooling spunk with his best friend breathing hard next to his ear. It gave Quentin a strange feeling, like maybe none of this was real, but then again, there had been all those memories of before, in Fillory, and they weren’t real. Except they were. Real, and yet not, like all of their sexual moments had been, now he considered. The story of Eliot and himself, at least the romantic bits, was all a bit unreal. 

“Coldwater, I can hear you thinking from here.” Eliot flicked his upper arm with a finger. 

“You’re right next to me,” he objected.

“Still not psychic, though.” Eliot sighed. “Come on, I need a shower, and...” There was a pause while Eliot’s eyes took in the mess covering Quentin’s belly. “...clearly so do you.” Quentin complied without complaint, following him into the shining, modern bathroom, not failing to notice the wobble in Eliot’s stride. He didn’t think it was entirely or even primarily a result of the orgasm they’d just shared, either. Eliot’s wound from the ax may have been healed with magic, but it would still take him a while to recover.

The shower was a stand-alone space in the corner with a door made of what looked like incredibly expensive curved glass that made you feel like you were sealing yourself inside part of a space ship. The LED lights that shone through the water’s spray once it was turned on only added to this impression. Eliot adjusted the temperature of the water with far less trouble than Quentin probably would have, and soon they were both under the spray. There was plenty of room for two, though they couldn’t turn without pressing against each other. Of course this led to the inevitable roaming hands on slick skin and a good deal of giggling. 

“Want me to wash your hair?” Eliot asked after shampooing his own. Quentin hadn’t been planning to wash it, having just done so the day before, but he wasn’t going to turn down a scalp massage when offered, so he wordlessly turned his back to the taller man, who set to work. Eliot’s long fingers slid through his hair, pressing soothingly into his scalp. He let out a moan that sounded far more sexual than was really warranted by the situation, but Eliot didn’t seem to mind. He moved close behind Quentin so he could feel him just brushing against him. Then he felt the touch of an erection against the curve of his ass, forceful enough to let him know it was intentional. 

“Damn,” he said. “That was quick.”

“What can I say? I think it’s been a while.” The silence that fell then was a little awkward, both of them doubtless thinking of the fact that Eliot didn’t really know what his body had been up to.

Eliot directed him into the spray of the water and he rinsed the shampoo from his hair. “Uh, it probably has,” Quentin said after a moment. “As far as _I_ know, at least.” He shrugged apologetically up at Eliot. There was something behind his eyes he didn’t quite like the look of. “ _He_ , uh, didn’t seem at all, uh, interested in that kind of thing...for what it’s worth.” A beat passed, in which Quentin started to wonder if he should start sidling away from Eliot, but then hands closed strongly on his hips.

“Well, I _am_ ,” El said, pressing him back against the glass of the shower wall and rubbing his cock against him. It was almost too forceful, almost _forced_ but that didn’t stop Quentin’s breath from hitching and his face from flushing. Then Eliot’s mouth was on his, hard and demanding and perfect and he forgot everything else. All of the past months were washed away with the force of Eliot’s desire, the evidence of it hard against him, grinding into him, the hot tongue in his mouth, the hands grabbing at him. When he had to break away to gasp for air, Eliot bent even lower and went to work on his throat: sucking and biting. His right hand was squeezing his ass, too, then long fingers slid into the cleft and brushed against his hole, shocking him into a strangled shout. 

“Sorry,” said Eliot, straightening to look at him. “Too much?” His expression mingled genuine concern with a touch of amusement. 

“Uh, just, uh, surprising,” he replied, his cheeks heating. The truth was that instant of contact had sent a rush of wanting through him that he hadn’t been entirely prepared for. That was one more thing that only existed in that unreal place in his mind. That me-but-not-me and us-but-not-us memory-but-not place. He reached up to Eliot’s neck and pulled him back in for more kissing. Then he reached down and captured his hand and directed it back to where it had been exploring. He felt Eliot’s lips curve against his own as his fingers slid back under him. 

The longer it went on: the kissing and teasing, the harder he got, despite his earlier prediction. And the more he felt like Eliot’s plaything, at the mercy of the other man’s mouth and fingers. He could also feel his cock against his hip, sliding against him as Eliot rocked.

“El, El,” he said urgently. “Let me suck your cock.” A moment after the words left his lips he heard them and winced at how demanding they sounded, how confident. But Eliot was already leaning away and looking down at him, eyes dark. 

“Fuck. Yes. Q,” he said, and let go of him all at once, stepping back to give him room. Quentin went to his knees on the marble floor of the shower, grateful when El tilted the flow of water away from his face. He took only a moment to take in the sight of Eliot’s cock, huge and red in his vision, before he pointed it down and took it in his mouth. He was glad the sound of Eliot’s moan was loud enough to drown out the sound he himself made as he sucked around the head. The truth was he’d been imagining this for, well, at least a year. Remembering it and imagining it, and thinking he wouldn’t experience it again, barring some drunken mistake. But here they were, against all odds both alive, and Eliot’s cock was in his mouth. _Where it belonged,_ he thought, and then told himself off for being ridiculous. 

He focused on giving the best head he could, though he couldn’t take nearly as much as he wanted into his mouth and he choked when he tried. Eliot didn’t seem to mind, just stroked along his jaw. “Careful, baby,” he said, and the words burned in his gut as he sucked him back inside. _Baby._ El had called him that in Fillory, quite often, when they were alone. It made it all feel real, or closer, at least. He dove down, pressing the head of his cock against the roof of his mouth.

“Fuck, Q,” hissed Eliot. His hips jerked, though only in tiny motions. “Oh, god, Q...I’m gonna come.” Quentin nodded as best he could, making an encouraging noise in his throat. And with a last, drawn out sound Eliot came, hot down his throat as he swallowed reflexively. 

He got to his feet slowly, shaking out the numbness from his legs. He grinned over at Eliot, leaning his weight on the glass wall of the shower, looking stunned in a way that filled his chest with a certain pride. He reached up to direct the stream of water over his head to warm him up. He only got a moment to luxuriate under it, however, before Eliot crowded him back against the glass again. His lips were rough against his, the kiss clumsier than before. Quentin thrust his hips up at his body, his cock aching. Thankfully, Eliot encircled it with a hand and began to stroke. He pulled back and smiled wickedly, then his other hand dipped back down to his hole. A wet finger slipped inside after a moment, causing Quentin to let his head fall back against the glass. 

“Yeah?” asked Eliot from above him. Quentin couldn’t see him, couldn’t manage to open his eyes in the middle of such a sensory onslaught. The finger fucked in and out as the hand continued to tug at his cock, in counterpoint to each other. He felt like he could come any moment, and each moment he didn’t was a surprise. He didn’t know how long it went on, or what sounds he made, or what it was that finally pushed him over the edge. But he finally did topple, thrashing in between Eliot’s two hands like a puppet. His orgasm seemed to go on and on, or maybe that was just El’s finger pressing on his prostate that gave that impression, but his throat felt hoarse by the time he came back into focus enough to realize he’d been shouting. He couldn’t, at that moment, remember ever coming so hard in his life. 

“You’re welcome,” said Eliot, obviously amused.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“What? Uh, no? Say what?” Now Eliot was _very_ amused.

Quentin rubbed a hand over his face. “Nothing. Just...fuck.” 

“Seconded.” Eliot stretched his arms over his head. “Final rinse and then how bout you get me breakfast in bed?” 

“Oh, really?” Quentin smiled at him, knowing he’d do that and more, happily. “Okay, fine, but first I have to get my legs to stop shaking.” Eliot’s grin was like the sun.

~~~~~

Days passed all too quickly. He and Eliot dodged whatever responsibilities arose to the best of their abilities. They made excuses to stay in and not see people. When others came by, they were polite and friendly, but something seemed to give most people the hint that they were intruding. So they were often left alone in the penthouse. Which was ideal as far as they were concerned.

Perhaps inevitably, they spent a lot of time in bed. They had a lot of time to make up for, and a lot of each other to explore. They rediscovered each other’s buttons and tastes, half remembered from another lifetime. Some things were always the same. Quentin always loved bottoming, Eliot always loved making him shout. 

Nearly a week had gone by before they had their first serious talk.

“Have you heard from Alice?” Eliot asked one evening after dinner.

“Alice?” He looked at Eliot with suspicion. “Why?” 

“Just...cause I don’t know how you left things with her...when she stormed out.” 

“She didn’t _storm._ ” Quentin ran a hand through his hair. “I was just honest with her, you know. I thought you heard all that.”

“I did, just...” Eliot looked past him, at the wall. “If you wanted...I wouldn’t be against it.” He looked at him and saw his confusion. “If you wanted something with her...too.” Quentin frowned at him, taken completely aback.

“Where the hell is this coming from?” he asked finally.

“Nowhere...it’s just...okay, Margo told me she thought you two were getting back together, before...” He gestured to himself. “And...” He paused, took a breath. “I don’t just want to be your default.”

“Default? What the fuck are you talking about?” Quentin had been feeling so...warm and comfortable earlier, and now...

“I’m trying to talk about this. Like adults. I just want to make sure you have a choice. That you _choose._ ” Eliot’s face was calm, but behind his eyes Quentin could see what looked like fear.

“How can you say that?” He was standing, pacing now. “After you heard me with Alice. Heard me choose you? I can’t believe you.” He sucked air in through his nose. “I can’t believe you’re doing this again. I’m so sick of having this conversation with you! After the mosaic...with Arielle!? You’re always telling me I don’t really feel what I feel. That I really want someone else. Some woman!”

Eliot looked away from him. “Okay, Q, but you...”

“No, no...” He cut him off, not even wanting to hear what it would be this time. “Alright. Alright. That first night. After we got you back. And you woke up and grabbed onto me and told me you...loved me. That you were wrong and you wanted to be with me...” Quentin took a breath and plowed ahead. 

“I—I felt something I’d never felt before. Just...flayed open. Joy, and love, and _pain_. A year and a half of fucking pain that I’d repressed, that I’d put aside, from you telling me no. From putting myself out there and you tossing it back in my face like it was nothing. I laid right here--” He pointed to the bed. “--aching until I couldn’t bear it anymore and then I got up and went to the living room—where Alice was waiting—and went out on the balcony and fell on my knees and cried until I ran out of tears.”

“Q.” Eliot tried to interrupt, reaching a hand out but he ignored him.

“And I realized, there, on my knees, just how bone fucking deep down my love for you went. And that’s why I fucking _chose_ you, motherfucker. And if you hadn’t wanted me like this, I’d have been here with you as a friend and you _know_ that, right?” He stood over Eliot, who looked positively small sitting on the edge of the bed. His eyes were hot with tears and he panted, waiting.

“I’m sorry. I...I’m sorry, Q,” Eliot stammered. “I didn’t...know. I don’t know why I’m like this.” Not only small, but defeated. And Quentin felt the anger bleed from him. 

“I do,” he said much more softly. “You’re so fucking insecure.” He saw Eliot flinch at that. “Here you are so gorgeous and warm and perfect and you can’t fucking believe anyone would love you.” He sat next to him, leaning close, his hand covering Eliot’s own on his thigh. “But maybe I wasn’t doing a good job of...letting you know. Because it’s just so much, it’s so massive, that I’m afraid...afraid I’ll scare you off.”

Into the silence, Eliot snickered. 

“What?” The sudden shift in Eliot’s posture to one of wry amusement threw him.

“It’s just so big and you’re afraid to show me cause it’ll scare me off?” Finally, those shining eyes turned to him. 

“Idiot,” he said, but he was returning Eliot’s grin. “And that’s _you_ not _me_ anyway.”

“You love it.” Eliot’s grin turned to a smirk and he leaned back, confident flirtatiousness falling over him like a favorite shirt.

“You know I do.” Quentin leaned in and kissed him, lightly, a little hesitantly, checking if they were okay. Then his lips twisted as a thought occurred. “And another thing--”

“What now?” Eliot’s eyes were smiling, though.

“I like your cock!” Quentin declared. “No, really,” he continued over Eliot’s laughter. “I fucking love your cock. I love fucking you, and it’s the best I’ve ever had with anyone!” He saw the moment that hit in the way Eliot’s eyes widened. “So stop telling me I’m too fucking straight, okay?” He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I like women. And I like men. And I really, _really_ like _you._ ”

He wasn’t sure, after that outburst, which of them moved first or who technically kissed who, but then they were kissing, and it was great. Whoever it was who started it, Eliot swiftly took control and pressed Quentin back against the bed. Like usual, the weight of Eliot on top of him made him hard almost instantly. He hummed pleasure into the mouth that continued devouring him. 

As Eliot worked his way down his throat he had another thought. “Hey, do you think me being passive in bed is part of why you think I’m not that into you?”

“Huh?” Eliot looked up at him, eye hazy and dark with lust. 

“I mean, I know I mostly just lie back and let you do things to me.” He gestured to their relative positions.

“I like doing things to you. And I know you like me doing them.” He ducked his head and nipped at the sensitive spot just under his ear. 

“Yeah, yeah, I _do,_ ” he agreed. “But maybe because I’m not being assertive, and showing you how into you I am...” He pushed up on El’s shoulders. “Here, let’s switch it up.” 

“You don’t have to...” Eliot protested, disappointment furrowing his brow a little.

“I know. I want to,” he insisted. “Let me.” 

Quentin pressed him back into the bed, slowly, waiting for Eliot to comply. He did, eventually, with a permissive air. He began unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it aside. Throwing a leg over him and settling over his hips, he looked down on him, at his beauty. He traced a hand up from his belt, in between the open halves of his shirt, through the perfect dusting of hair. He didn’t know how he, someone as ordinary as himself, got to be here with someone as beautiful as Eliot. But here they were, despite everything. He thought he should say something to that effect, but feared it would sound forced, after their conversation.

He bent down and pressed his mouth to Eliot’s chest, above his right nipple, a firm kiss. Then moved down, tracing with his tongue, to capture his nipple and suck. He loved feeling Eliot buck underneath him. He slid his hands down his sides, feeling the smooth planes of him, the way he shuddered in reaction. He shifted, sliding down Eliot’s body, in between his legs, his mouth flowing down to the tender, soft flesh over his belly button. He nibbled here, biting and then licking away the mark of his teeth. In a circle around his belly button he left reddened marks, then traced back down his center line to his belt buckle. 

He could feel the hard heat of him through his jeans, loved the way Eliot threw his head back when he touched him. That impossible length of him, jutting up against the fabric in a way that had to be painful. Quentin placed his mouth over the head of his cock and bit softly at it through the denim. 

“Fuuuuck.” El spoke volumes with the single word: pleasure and surprise and demand. Quentin lifted his head and smiled at him, enjoying this more than he’d imagined. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken charge, at least it wasn’t if you counted that other life...he didn’t know if Eliot did. He reached for the buckle at his waist. While Quentin worked to get his pants open, Eliot clawed his shirt the rest of the way off and then laid back against the pillow with an eager light in his eyes. He watched with obvious enjoyment as Quentin freed his cock from the tight jeans and fell on it with his mouth hungrily. 

Surely by now Eliot knew how much he liked sucking him off. He hardly let a chance pass to get on his knees and demonstrate his enthusiasm. But tonight he had a goal in mind besides just pleasing Eliot. So he teased. He licked and kissed along his length, from tip to base, but lightly. He pulled Eliot’s pants down farther, to his ankles, and set to sucking on his balls. And then he stopped, smiling at the disappointed noise El made as his legs fell open and Quentin stood.

He stripped off his clothes quickly, ignoring the way Eliot watched him, trying not to feel too self-conscious. He bent over the bedside drawer to fetch the lube and condoms and set them out on the bed. Then he climbed back over El’s body, stretching out to kiss him. 

Eliot hummed appreciatively into his mouth. “What’s your plan, lover? Gonna have your way with me or you wanna go for a ride?” Quentin huffed a laugh and shook his head at how Eliot could say such things even half-seriously. He bit his lip and looked down at him.

“I want to ride your cock,” he said, trying but failing to maintain eye contact. But he sat back so Eliot’s cock slid against the curve of his ass and that was a good distraction from his less-than-spectacular seduction technique. 

“Mmm.” El thrust up against him, holding on to his hips. “You want me to get you ready?” Quentin nodded and let Eliot push him off him and onto his front. His stomach fluttered when Eliot’s lips touched just above the cleft of his ass in a quick peck. And then another a little further down. And another. And then his thumbs spread him open and his tongue licked into him. 

Quentin suppressed a squeal. His breathing grew ragged as El licked at him, into him. And then a finger pressed into him, while the tongue kept working at his rim, flicking around the digit piercing him. Eliot liked to take his time with this, liked to make him beg for it, liked it when he was breathless and whimpering. Only once he was rocking his hips in a need for more did a second finger, this one slick with the best lube money could buy, get added. And then a third, because Eliot’s cock was thick and Quentin liked to be fucked hard. 

But then he sat back, pulling his fingers from Q’s body, wiping off with a tissue and then lying back, radiating calm. Quentin, on the other hand, felt anything but calm. His hair was a mess and he was sweaty, his cock leaving a wet spot on the sheet when he sat up. He looked over to Eliot, wide-eyed. He reached for a condom and handed it to Eliot, who had it open and on in a flash. Then he swung a leg over him and leaned down to kiss him roughly, messily. Finally, he sat up and reached behind him to grab Eliot’s cock and hold it while he sank onto it. 

The first stretch of it inside him made his eyes shut and his head fall back. He took it bit by bit, slowly, savoring the feel of it filling him up. Eliot’s cock seemed to take up more space inside him than was physically possible, felt far thicker than he knew it was. The feeling of being stretched and filled that was still so new and yet also so familiar, seeming to melt time so he was in the present and the past at once. In this timeline and another, maybe many others, feeling Eliot inside him in all of them. 

“God,” he breathed. His free hand, the one that wasn’t still holding El’s cock in place, scrambled around and finally locked with Eliot’s hand. He opened his eyes for a moment and took in El’s expression, the entirely vulnerable way he watched Quentin’s face, before he clamped his eyes shut once more. 

Finally, finally he sank all the way down, filled completely with cock, frozen and breathing and holding Eliot’s hand. Another hand closed on his hip and shifted him, pulling him forward just a little. “Ah, Quentin...” said El and it sounded like a plea. So he moved, leaning forward and then sitting back quickly, driving the breath from both of them. Rocking his hips, small moves, circles, pressing against his prostate and making his breath catch: the slide out and in easy. It was almost teasing, almost foreplay. Strong hands came up and grabbed him, pulled him down and into a bruising kiss while their hips continued to rock. Faster now, Eliot thrusting up into him, but still not too hard. They panted into each other’s mouths, the kiss all teeth and tongues and confusion. And then a hard jolt, enough to hurt a little, aimed right where it needed to be, and Quentin shouted out. Arms tightened around him, holding him still and pounded into him again and again, and he could only take it, could only shudder. 

His cries grew ragged; he wasn’t able to catch his breath. He tried to beg, to say Eliot’s name, but he couldn’t get the air. And then Eliot was jerking, convulsing, squeezing him hard enough to hurt his ribs as he thrust once, twice, three more times and then stilled. He seemed as breathless as Quentin, given his cry was silent, open-mouthed and gasping. After a long moment his arms relaxed and then fell away. 

Quentin gulped air as he pushed himself up, to his elbows and then back to sitting, back onto Eliot’s still-hard cock. He was still hard, too, and he reached for his cock as he started rocking again. A clumsy hand batted at his and took its place, encircling his cock and stroking him roughly. It didn’t take long. The press of Eliot against his prostate, the fist around his cock, quickly combined to drive him over into a shuddering orgasm. He clenched around the cock inside him as El clenched his hand around his. 

Finally he fell, to the side and off Eliot, leaving trails of fluids as he did. He smiled at how wrecked El looked, how debauched. It was a very good look on him. 

“Fuck,” he said, breathless. 

“Yeah.” Neither of them seemed able to find any more words for a while after that. Eliot reached for him, though, pulled him close despite the sweat and spunk. Quentin tucked his head into the taller man’s neck, pressing half-there kisses against his salty skin. 

Finally, after a long silence, Eliot spoke. “I’m sorry. About before...” Quentin shook his head. 

“S’okay,” he murmured. 

“I promised myself,” continued Eliot, not taking the out. “When I was trapped in my head, I promised myself I’d be brave when I got out. That I wouldn’t...let fear...fuck this up anymore.” Quentin frowned, not knowing what to say to that. “And I fucked up again. Apparently bravery is a process.” 

“Hey,” he said, pulling back enough to look up into Eliot’s face. “Neither of us actually knows what we’re doing, okay? Pretty sure we’re both going to fuck up...probably a lot.” 

Eliot smiled softly. “Yeah. Probably.” He bent down and kissed Quentin, with gentleness that tugged on that hook still buried deep in his chest. 

“We just have to make our fuck-ups...less spectacular in the future.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Eliot protested. “I’m King Eliot the Spectacular, remember?” 

“Oh right,” he replied, his lips curving up fiercely. “King Eliot the Spectacular Fuck-up, I think I’ve heard of you.” Eliot slapped at him and he laughed, wriggling against the strong arms batting at him. The struggle ended with Eliot on top on him, pinning all his limbs and grinning.

“I’m gonna try really hard not to fuck this up,” Eliot said, sobering. 

Quentin maintained eye contact as he nodded back. “Me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I feel like I've been writing this for years. (But don't we all feel like it's been a REALLY long time since that finale?) Please validate me with a comment if you liked it! 
> 
> The title is from the song "Province" by TV on the Radio, and I've been waiting to use it for Queliot for months. 
> 
> You can find me here and on [Tumblr,](http://three--rings.tumblr.com) where I post a lot of salty meta about The Magicians and whatever other fandom my fandom magpie brain feels like. I have another Queliot smut fic in the works you can bug me about writing, too. 
> 
> Finally, thanks for the support from the folks in RAO who let me whine to them, and this fandom in general. One positive thing to come out of this mess is how much love I've felt from y'all Good Internet Friends.


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